Turn to the Morning Sun
by Odilyn23
Summary: She was called the Daughter of the Sun, their light and joy. She made her choice and was estranged. Aragorn loved the Evenstar. When she rejected him will he find love in the Dawn? Will she find hope in Estel? Will they Turn to the Morning Sun? Aragorn/OC
1. Chapter 1

Hi all! For those of you who have read my HP fic "Two Hearts", I'm sorry that I had to discontinue it but I was very uninspired. That won't happen with this fic, I promise! I have had it in my head for a long time and I am so excited! It's my first Lord of the Rings fic, so please be kind! Also, I live for reviews!!! The faster the reviews, the faster the updates. I need motivation. Thank you so much and I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Odilyn

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"Damn!" The exclamation echoed through the small wooded dell. A bird stopped his chirping and cocked his head. A deer paused in his drink. A squirrel stopped its chattering. And a lovely elf maiden continued to mutter under her breath as she inspected a large cut on her finger. Her fiery red hair was pulled back and covered in a blue scarf as she knelt by the creek bank, but some strands had escaped and blew across her face, almost as bright as the blood oozing from her finger. Her bright blue eyes gazed at the cut in concentration. As she gazed, a look of pain crossed her face. The cut on her finger began to knit itself back together and then it began to glow a bright golden. The golden specks in her eyes and the golden streaks in her hair shone even brighter for a moment, making her look like one of the Valar themselves. And then the moment was gone and she shrunk back to her simple elven beauty. Her finger was unblemished and she flexed it in satisfaction.

A large hound put his head on her lap and whined softly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, mellon." Her voice was soft and beautiful, but slightly harsher than most elves. It was more approachable, more _human_. "It's not like I can use my gifts in any more important way. _They_ wouldn't want me to." The bitterness in her voice increased. Her pale, smooth face hardened and her natural golden light diminished to almost nothing.

"Don't let us think of that, dear. There are other things to do. Like washing these rugs for example."

She turned back to the task at hand. It was a strange sight. She had the beauty of an elf maid, yet the voice of a mortal. Her eyes held not the depths of the elves, though they were wise. She wore a simple blue gown covered by a brown apron, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and her hands covered in soap. It was not a situation you would find the typical elleth in.

When she had finished with her washing, she hung the rugs up to dry. She then stretched her back and rubbed her neck. Washing was not one of her favorite chores. Humming to herself, she picked up her basket and then moved across the clearing quietly on her bare feet. It was nearing the beginning of autumn and she wished to enjoy the warm weather as long as possible, before being holed up in her home alone for the winter. She sighed as she approached her cozy hut that was tucked away in a little copse of oak and maple. She had to admit that it got lonely. She had a great affinity with animals, so she never suffered for company in_ that_ regard. But the fact was, animals were not humans...or elves for that matter.

As she neared the door, the sound of hooves startled her and she dropped her basket, its load of herbs scattering in the wind.

"Damn!" She bent to retrieve what she could. "It seems I do little more than curse out loud these days," she said wryly to no one in particular.

When she straightened up, a coal black mare had entered the copse. Her head was arched proudly and she nickered as she pranced toward the elf maid.

"Ah, how are you, mellon nin? It has been a while." The horse nickered and snorted, pawing the ground and tossing her head impatiently. The maid looked at the horse sharply.

"Someone's coming?! How far?"

The horse snorted again.

"I must be distracted today. Usually I would have known sooner."

She ran into her hut and strapped a simple blade to her slim waist. Then she grabbed a long bow of exquisite craftsmanship, though simple in design. She stroked it gently and then proceeded to make sure every strand of her bright hair was covered by a green scarf. It would draw _way_ too much attention to itself.

When she was ready, she set off towards the south, the direction from which the visitors were coming. She had only gone about a mile when she heard them- the soft steps of elven steeds. She quickly and gracefully scaled a tree and waited, bow drawn, an arrow knocked and ready. There were five- five male elves riding magnificent steeds. They shone with a pale, star-like glimmer. A twinge of envy appeared in the maiden's eyes, but was quickly suppressed. Their faces were flawless and alert to any sign of danger. Her eyes slid over them with a calculating look. And then they landed on one- he had dark midnight hair which stood in great contrast to the pale locks of the others and clear gray eyes. He rode at the head of the party. Her clear blue eyes widened in recognition. Then, a golden fire blazed to life in them. It was a hot, raging fury. She swung round and dropped lightly to the ground, right in front of the approaching elves and their leader's horse, her bow drawn, an arrow aimed directly at his heart.

"Stop!" Her voice was clear and rang with authority. The other elves had drawn their bows as soon as she had landed, except for the dark-haired one. She now had four arrows aimed at her, but she paid them no heed. Her blazing eyes were fixed solely on their leader. He raised one hand.

"Lower your weapons," he said in his clear, strong elven voice that resonated with power. They obeyed, though somewhat reluctantly. She, however, did not budge one inch and kept her weapon aimed.

"What Anariel? What sort of greeting is this, dear cousin?"

Her eyes narrowed as the other elves looked at their leader in surprise. Cousin?

"Give me _one_ reason, Elrohir, one _good_ reason why I shouldn't bury this arrow in your sorry hide?" A golden shimmer began to surround her and her eyes glowed more furiously. The elves shifted nervously. Elrohir, however, was quite calm, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I can give several reasons, Anariel, why you shouldn't and why you won't. Firstly, your innate sense of justice will tell you that I have done nothing deserving of death, no matter how I have mistreated you. Secondly, you would not slay your kinsmen, not while you could help it."

Through this speech Anariel's light diminished, until she looked like a forlorn little human child. A single tear slid down her cheek, like a solitary diamond and her bow was lowered.

"You have no idea, Elrohir," she whispered sadly. "You have no idea how your words and your father's words have haunted me. At night, when I am alone in the darkness but for the howling of the hunting wolves, they echo in my mind. 'We would have loved you' 'We would have been your family'. You _are_ my family. You _should_ have loved me, despite my choice." She started to shimmer slightly once more. "No, Elrohir. It is too much to ask. You want to come here, after fifteen years, which I know isn't long to you, and you ask me to act as if nothing is wrong. As if I have not been alone for fifteen years with no one to speak to. I am sorry." She turned and began to walk away.

"Anariel! Wait!" Elrohir spurred his horse and cut her off. She lifted her blue eyes to his gray ones. He read there all the hurt and sorrow that had hidden in her heart, unhealed, all those years. He slid off his mount and stood before her, her small stature causing him to have to bend over to look her in the eye.

"Anariel. I have come to apologize. No don't turn away," he took her small hands in his larger ones. "We were wrong. All of us. Father admitted it to all of us. He wanted me to get you. We need you... and your gifts."

Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. They just wanted her for what she could do? Fine. If that's what they wanted, that's what they would get.

"I will come Elrohir," she said softly. He started to smile. "But it is hard to forget. It is hard to forgive. I need time." She stepped away from him and lifted her head proudly. "I will be ready to leave for Imladris at dawn tomorrow. Do not follow me and do not come within half a mile of my house. I will know if you do. The birds are my sentinels as well as Anar."

She turned and walked away through the trees, leaving a slightly frustrated Elrohir and confused elves behind her.

"What was that about?" A tall, blond elf asked, baffled. Elrohir shook his head and answered not. The morning would come all too quickly.

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What do think? Like it or hate it, please review. (But please, please, please like it.....)


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guys! Sorry that it's been a little while since an update. I'll try to get the next chapter up sooner next time! I want to thank my reviewers- Pissenoffanis, Roranon, Darth Obvious, and jules14. I appreciate all the comments that anybody leaves, but constructive criticism is most especially appreciated. Thanks again and I hope that you enjoy this next chapter.

Odilyn

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Chapter 2

The sun set in the West, casting its final rays across Middle Earth. Anariel sat outside her hut, wrapped tightly in a blanket and gazing longingly towards the West. She was not one to frequently engage in regrets. It wasn't in her nature. There was no use crying over things you couldn't change. But with the arrival of Elrohir, flashes of the past again returned to torment her wounded mind and heart . . .

_She stood in the deepening twilight, the sun a mere line of fire on the horizon. She was standing on a hill above Imladris. It was one of her favorite spots. You could see for miles towards the West. She frequently came there to watch the sun set and today was no exception. But something was different. Her head was bowed. Her pale face was drawn and tired-looking, odd in and of itself for an elf. Her hands trembled as they tightly gripped the fabric of her dark green skirt. A determined look entered her eyes and she looked once more toward the West, as though to bid it farewell. She opened her mouth to speak fated words . . ._

_She stood before him, shoulders squared and chin high. It was after sunset and she had no light. She was utterly diminished. He looked at her wonderingly, fear and sadness etched on his venerable face. Her only light was in her eyes, which held a mixture of shame and defiance._

_"How could you, Anariel? Did you think of no one but yourself? Did you not consider the sorrow we, your family, would feel for you?" Tears entered his ancient, grey eyes._

_"I knew what I was doing, what I __am__ doing! This was __my__ choice! Will you not accept it and love me just the same as you once pledged to do?"_

_Anger now entered his face. "You treat your choice as if it were no more than a whim! If eternal estrangement is what you desire, so be it. Get you gone!" _

_She turned slowly away, agony written across her face. Before she left, she shot one more imploring glance at her uncle, but his face was as still and unmovable as stone, and as hard. She ran from the room, tears streaming down her face, an intense pain ripping her heart open from the inside . . ._

Arwen's face: disdain and pity. Elladan's face: shock and disappointment. Elrohir's face: pain and bewilderment. Elrond's face: sorrow and . . . anger. The anger was the hardest to deal with. He had never been angry with _her_. Though she had played more than one rather improper and tasteless prank on the unsuspecting, even then she had somehow wiggled her way out of having his anger directed towards her. But to have those cold, chillingly wrathful eyes turned on _her_ . . . she sighed.

She tucked a strand of her loose hair behind her ear. "The Daughter of the Sun". That's what he once called her. It wasn't true of course. Only the Maia were true daughters of the Sun. But her joy and golden light and song and her love of the morning instead of the twilight as was the custom of most elves had given her this nickname. It was a name of affection, of acceptance.

A sparrow landed in front of her and emitted a series of chirps and whistles, startling her from her reverie. Her light brightened a bit.

"I _told_ him to stay away. But will he listen – no! I should have known he would want to talk though." As she stood, the sun fell behind the horizon. Her light left her. It wasn't just dimmed, it was _gone_. She was still beautiful, but she looked very mortal. Her eyes were blue, her hair was red, her skin was pale, but that was all.

She made her way to the creek where she had been washing earlier. Elrohir was there. His pale skin glowed in the dark as brightly as the stars twinkling above in the night sky. He was sitting on a log gazing thoughtfully into the water. Anariel stopped for a moment and looked at him. He looked like a younger version of his father – same midnight hair, same piercing grey eyes. She shuddered slightly as she once again remembered the anger, bordering on rage. She forced the image out of her head and instead focused on making sure that her hard, unreadable mask was firmly in place. She stepped forward.

"Elrohir, I thought I told you to wait," Anariel said softly. He looked up suddenly and his eyes widened at the sight of her. He stood and crossed to her. He didn't touch her, but stood over her and inspected her sadly.

"The Daughter of the Sun, our light, our joy. That's what you _were_ Anariel." He sounded hurt and pained. "Why would you forsake that? Did it mean nothing to you?"

"I was never the 'Daughter of the Sun', Elrohir. I had no ambitions to be more than I was. I was not pretentious. I was dear to you, my family, but in the sight of the Valar I was worth no more than any other elf. The choice was made. I cannot go back. Nor do I wish to." Her chin lifted and she gave him a proud look.

As he looked at her, a slightly startling look entered his eyes. Anariel didn't like it, coming from him. He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek. He was leaning closer, looking deeply into her blue eyes. She whirled away and turned her back to him, shoulders slumped.

"No, Elrohir. It wasn't meant to be. I love you, as my family. Do not ask for more. Be content."

"But, Anariel . . ." He started, reaching for her.

"No! I am _mortal_, Elrohir!" she hissed violently as she turned to him, her eyes blazing, not with her elvish light, but with anger. "Mortal! I chose this, just as my father did. I will die. Not for many years, but I will. The light has left me. Only during the day, in the sunlight does my elven part still shine along with my gift. I am mortal now and I cannot give it back or take back what I once had. You have to accept that I can't give you forever. And I can't give you the love that you want or deserve."

Elrohir just looked at her, at this beautiful, wonderful, now mortal woman who had held part of his heart since she came to Imladris centuries ago. He knew it was never meant to be, especially when she chose mortality. But he had hoped. Oh, how he had hoped.

"Elrohir?" There was a hopeful note in her voice. "Did Uncle _really_ say that he was wrong?"

She had a pleading look in her eyes. It made her sound like a small, vulnerable child. She was fairly young by elvish standards, but as a mortal she had long ago reached the age of maturity. Elrohir saw suddenly. It hit him like a punch in the gut. When she died, he would still be young. He would not be ready to quit Middle Earth. And he had never even considered giving up his immortality for her. His heart constricted at the thought. No. He realized fully that he could never have what he wanted. Not with her. He sighed.

"Yes, Anariel. He called Arwen, Elladan, and me to him. He said that he had let the pride of the Eldar blind him to the love he still owed you as his brother's child. He loves you, Anariel. He realizes now how much."

Anariel sighed inwardly. It was hard to forgive. It was even harder to forget. Memories had been all she had for too long, painful memories.

"Well, maybe it is time to finally make some new memories," she said quietly to herself. "Elrohir, I will come. The Darkness is growing. The time is approaching for the final stand. I must help."

Elrohir smiled softly at her. She was brave, you had to give her that. The only time he had ever seen her afraid had been before she was to tell his father about her choice.

"Anariel, before we part ways for the night, I want you to know . . ." he paused and Anariel shifted uncomfortably. He pushed on. "I want you to know that I have loved you for a long time, but I now realize that _you_ are the one who deserves far more than _I_ can give. If I loved you like you should be loved, I would not hesitate to give up my immortality for you. But when I think of doing that, my heart quails within me and the sea-longing increases ten-fold. You should be with someone who can give you _his_ forever." Even as he was saying this, a face appeared in his mind – a rugged, worn, but incredibly noble and handsome face. He smirked a little. "I do not want our relationship to become strained or uncomfortable. I sincerely want you to find the love that you wish for."

Anariel wiped away a tear that had slipped out during this speech. He was a wonderful elf and would make some elleth very happy some day. She could only hope that what he wished for her would come to pass.

"Thank you, cousin. Your words mean much to me. I suppose we should sleep. After all, as I recall you are an especially early riser." A teasing glint entered her eyes and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk.

Elrohir groaned. It was a well-known fact that Elrohir was a little too fond of a good lie-in. Only Anariel would remember that for all these years.

"Ah, Anariel. I have a feeling that during the trip to Imladris, you will try to make up for fifteen years lost bantering and teasing."

"You know me well, cousin. Besides, I have had fifteen years to come up with all sorts of exceptionally witty insults and comebacks, so _I_ would spend tonight oiling up the rusty hinges of your tongue and sharpening the dull edges of your brain." She laughed lightly at his offended look and dodged his playful slap. She hadn't laughed in years and it was surprisingly refreshing. It was time, time to move on.

Now, please please review. It makes my day when I get a review alert. Even just a line saying "I liked it" or "It stunk". (Preferably the former of course :) )

By the by here goes -- Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings. It is all Tolkien's genius. I own Anariel and some of the plot but that is all. There you go. I did it.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry that it's been awhile since I updated! I'm a dance teacher and we are busy preparing for our Christmas Performance. It's been crazy!!! I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Thanks to everyong who reviewed the last chapter. Your reviews keep me inspired! This is a bit of a shorter chapter, but it's better than nothing!

**PLEASE READ**: I am a great fan of the Lord of the Rings books. I want to keep this fic as canonical as possible. Sometimes however I just don't have the time to double check facts. If I make any serious errors, please feel free to PM me or even mention them in your reviews. Some things I might have had to change and I have an explanation for them, but others I might have just been being stupid! Thanks again and PLEASE REVIEW!!!

Odilyn

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. I only own Anariel.

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Chapter 3

Anariel was having a hard time sleeping. Heaven knows it wasn't because she wasn't tired. They were only one day from Rivendell and had been traveling for nearly a week. She hadn't slept well since the last night in her cozy hut. It wasn't even the bedding. _That_ was quite comfortable. No. It was quite simply the elven _snoring_. Now, to a full mortal it would merely sound like light breathing, but to Anariel who both possessed the elven hearing and was unused to company at night, it sounded like a regular symphony of snorts, snuffles, grunts, and other masculine, sleep-induced noises.

She groaned internally as Elrohir started up a snuffling which was about a octave higher than Galdor's wheezing and Lindor's snorting. She wouldn't get a good night's rest till they reached Imladris she was sure. Her stomach clenched at the thought. How would her uncle greet her? Though she had been somewhat appeased by Elrohir's reassurances, she couldn't help but be apprehensive. They had not left on good terms after all. Could he have truly forgiven her for what she chose?

Galdor gave a large snuffle.

Honestly, elves didn't even _sleep_. They merely walked in peaceful, elvish dreamlands to get their refreshment. You'd think they could do it _quietly_. Anariel sighed. The one good thing about night was that at least Galdor wasn't ogling her anymore. Though Elrohir kept him at bay and would remind him that she was mortal, during the day she looked so elven that he had a hard time remembering. He was rather boring for an elf. I mean, did she really_ care_ how many deer he had shot on every hunting trip he had ever taken?

Anariel rubbed her eyes. Perhaps she should slip a little ways away to sleep. But she knew that Elrohir would most definitely have "words" for her in the morning if she tried it.

She sighed and tried to empty her ears of the sounds that surrounded her. She tried to focus her mind on one, pleasant thing. She sifted through her thoughts, pausing occasionally to dwell on a particularly fond one. Then her mind drifted into the realm of fancy and things that had not yet happened, but that she wished with all her strength would. A handsome face, a quick smile, hearty laugh, and dancing eyes. Someone who would love her with his whole being. She didn't need a nobleman. Just a man. A simple man who would accompany her through her mortal life with care and patience and joy. She smiled dreamily and before she could even imagine what color his eyes would be, she was asleep.

_Cause nobody wants to be the last one there  
Cause everyone wants to feel like someone cares  
Someone to love with my life in their hands  
There's gotta be somebody for me like that_

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He sighed and glanced at the four small hobbits who were rolled up tightly in their blankets. It was a cold night in the marshes. A chill wind blew and the stars were hidden. He drew in a long breath of the cold night air. It burned in his lungs as he held it in and then finally let it go in a sweet release. His heart was paining him. In all hi long years and many travels his heart had not pained him like this. He had always known who he was and what he was meant to do. He had trusted his heart to lead him to do the right thing at the right time. Who knew it would make such a mistake?

He sighed once more and pulled his grey cloak closer. He closed his eyes. Her hair was dark as midnight, flowing in soft waves down her back. Her clear star-like eyes pierced his soul. Her deep, musical voice soothed his mortal ears. But then, the words she spoke reached him – "I am very fond of you, Estel. But it is a heavy price to pay for fondness. You need more. You need a woman who will love you enough to stand at your side proudly when you come into your own. That woman is not me. The Sea calls too strongly . . ."

He quickly brushed a half-fallen tear from his grey eyes. His heart had been hers for so long that when she gave it back, he hardly knew what to do with it. Could he trust it anymore? It had given itself to one unsuitable keeper, what was to keep it from doing that again?

No. Such thoughts did no good. Before he met Arwen, all those years ago, he had guarded his heart well. He could do it again. Now was not the time to have doubts. The darkness was growing and his time was drawing near. His strength and courage were needed. But before he turned his mind once again to the drear marshes, an image of a pair of laughing blue eyes flashed through his mind. He shook his head and returned to keeping watch. It was too dangerous right now. Love would have to wait.

_Nobody wants to do it on their own  
And everyone wants to know their not alone  
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere  
There's gotta be somebody for me out there_

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Song lyrics are from _Gotta Be Somebody_ by Nickelback


	4. Chapter 4

Hello all! I am very sorry that it has been so long since I updated! (I hit myself on the head) I have a hard time writing over breaks. But now that I am back into my regular schedule, the updates should be more frequent. I hope that you enjoy this chapter and please remember to review! Reviews make the world go 'round! Enjoy! It's longer to make up for the late update!

Odilyn

Chapter Four

The orc screeched as she whirled around and sliced across its neck with her long-neglected sword. She glanced frantically around the clearing, trying to quickly assess the situation. The orcs were in retreat. Elrohir was fighting four at once, but as she moved to help, three of her elven companions stepped in. She sighed and wiped at her blood-streaked cheek. The orcs had caught them unawares just outside the borders of Imladris. If they had managed to get across the Bruinen the orcs wouldn't have been able to follow, but there had been too many. They had been too outnumbered. The small party had been concentrating solely on making it out alive. None had escaped unscathed, except perhaps Elrohir. It was hard to tell if the blood he was covered in was _his_ or not. Anariel had acquitted herself fairly well, considering her lack of practice during the last fifteen years. But she had a long scratch on her cheek, a gash on the forearm of her shield arm, and she thought her ankle was broken. But she had come off easy. Looking around and counting the remaining elves, her heart leapt into her throat as she realized that two were no longer standing, the life-light forever quenched from their eyes. Tears sprang to Anariel's eyes. It wasn't their time. Though yesterday she would have given a lot to have Galdor leave her alone, now she would give almost anything to hear his most boring hunting story from his own, living lips.

There was no time for those thoughts now. After the living were cared for, then the time would come for grieving. She limped heavily over to the survivors of the party. Elrohir quickly organized the group. They had to make it across the Fords before stopping to care for the wounded. If they remained stationary, more orcs could possibly fall upon them. There would be no hope if that happened.

Anariel refused Elrohir's offer to be carried. She could hobble along fine, though it was painful. But Lindor was in much worse shape than she was. He had sustained a heavy blow to the chest and was losing blood rapidly. As soon as they were across the borders, she would be able to help. But now, she just concentrated on each step at a time, each painful step at a time. By the time the Bruinen was forded, her breathing was ragged and the pain in her ankle was agonizing.

_Why didn't you just accept Elrohir's offer? You are too stubborn for your own good sometimes!_

But deep down she knew that it wasn't selflessness that led her to reject her cousin's offer, but hesitance to be held by him in such a fashion. It was her own fault that she was struggling along right now. She would deal with it. Now, there was work to be done.

"Anariel, you can't do this! You must rest first!" Elrohir exhorted urgently as she knelt next to a pale, clammy Lindor.

His breathing was laboured and becoming shallower by the second. He was weakening rapidly. There was no time.

"Elrohir,_ I_ will live without rest. But if I rest _now_, Lindor will die. Now go away and shut up," she snapped, turning her attention to Lindor and ignoring Elrohir's stunned expression. She placed her hands over the rough bandages covering Lindor's wound. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A golden glow began to emanate from her hands. Her hair was brightening till it looked like red-gold flame and her breathing grew more frantic. A searing, white-hot pain ripped through her chest. She cried out and her eyes flew open to reveal her glowing gold-blue eyes. It lasted about a minute and then she slumped forward, the golden light leaving her suddenly and completely, her hair lifeless and muted, her skin pale and drawn. She was unconscious. Elrohir shook her shoulder slightly. The movement caused Lindor to groan.

"Lindor? Lindor are you alright?" Elrohir was amazed to see Lindor open his eyes sleepily and look at him with sobriety.

"I am well, Elrohir. But what of the girl? Was she wounded?" He looked awkwardly at the woman lying unconscious across his stomach.

"She healed you Lindor. I know not how badly she is injured. We will see when she wakes."

Elrohir gently and carefully, since he didn't know how badly she was hurt, lifted Anariel off Lindor. He was amazed, but not surprised, so see that Lindor's injury was completely healed. He carried Anariel to a blanket and proceeded to bandage her arm – the only obvious wound that he could see. Suddenly she sat straight up.

"What are you doing?!" She yanked her arm away and glared at Elrohir.

"Anariel! I am bandaging your arm! What did you _think_ I was doing?" Elrohir spoke defensively. It surprised him how Anariel was the only one to really get a rise out of his otherwise stoic demeanor. She was more like his brother Elladan than he liked to think.

"Oh," her shoulders slumped slightly. She held her arm back out and Elrohir proceeded to continue bandaging it.

"You know," Anariel said suddenly "sometimes I wish I didn't have power at all. In story books the people with healing power never have to pay for it. They go around, healing people right and left, flowers seeming to blossom at their feet. They never _pay_ for it. But that's not how reality is. _Everything_ comes with a price."

Elrohir stared at her. She had never opened up like this to him before. It surprised him.

Anariel sighed, feeling very, very tired and mortal at the moment. A huge wave of loneliness threatened to engulf her and for a split second she considered wrapping her arms around Elrohir. At least she could be held by _somebody_. But she quelled that impulse quickly. It would not do to encourage that sort of thing.

"Anariel," Elrohir said softly "what _is_ the price?" He had wondered that for some time now. What did she sacrifice every time she chose to help someone?

There was a pause as she dropped her dull, blue eyes to her lap and twisted her hands in the blanket.

"Pain," she finally whispered "pain, strength, energy. Every time I heal something, I have to relive the pain of whatever caused the hurt in the first place. I cannot heal illnesses with my gift, though I have studied the art of healing by more natural means under the best teachers. Healing myself takes much, much more energy than healing others. This ankle for example," she gestured helplessly at the swollen, purple appendage "if someone else had broken an ankle, I could heal it without losing too much energy. If I healed my own however, I would most likely be unconscious for a while." She met his eyes finally and smiled grimly with no mirth or joy. "How do you decide who should live and who should die?" she whispered. "How do you choose to whom to grant healing and from whom to withhold it?" The tears stood in her eyes. If there had been another of her friends with a desperate need for healing, she would have had to choose between them and Lindor. She didn't have enough energy for two. It was a choice she had never had to make and she desperately wished that she would never have to in the future.

Elrohir just sat in thoughtful silence. He had never given much thought to the consequences and responsibilities that came with a gift like Anariel's. He looked at her closely. He had never seen her looking less elven than she did at the moment. Even _Estel_ looked more like an elf than did this battle-worn, lonely, half-elven, mortal woman. He smiled slightly. He had just lost two of his beloved companions, ones whose lives should have lasted for many centuries more, ones who would never again wander the greenwood, or lift their voices in the songs of the Eldar. And yet, he smiled. He smiled because Anariel didn't know of the half-concocted scheme he had in his mind. A scheme involving a grey-eyed, noble-minded Ranger and this wilting, but strong-willed, maiden. He couldn't wait till they reached Imladris. These were dark times. One look at the still bodies of his fallen friends confirmed that. But that was all the more reason to conjure as much joy for himself and others as he could. He would try.

Anariel was completely unaware of her cousin's friendly intentions. She had wrapped a shawl around herself and was gritting her teeth together to keep from crying out as Elrohir set her ankle. It was one of the most painful things she had experienced, but she didn't make a sound. When he had finished, she let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding and relaxed. One good thing had come from this whole thing – now that she had faced a few orcs, the thought of facing her uncle no longer frightened her.

She snuggled down and attempted to relax. Now that the pain in her foot had somewhat subsided, the pain in her heart returned. She couldn't explain it. It felt empty and yet filled with a longing so strong that it hurt. She had been alone for fifteen long years and now she was returning to her family. But the longing she felt wasn't for them, no matter how glad she would be to see them. It was a longing for strong arms to hold her, a broad chest to lean against, loving ears to listen to her, a noble mind to give her strength. Her fantasies of a dream husband were no longer satisfying. They seemed remote and impossible in the light of the complete loneliness she felt and made the ache grow stronger instead of easing it. She was alone and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

He took a deep breath of the sweet breeze that rustled through the trees of Imladris. This was his heart's home. All the weariness and fear of the past weeks washed away as he strolled the wooded paths of this hidden valley, sanctuary of the elves. Here, he truly felt as though his time would come. Doubts would plague him outside this haven, fears and worries that he would not be strong enough. But here, here he felt more keenly the blood of Numenor flowing through his veins, here he stood more proudly, and here he felt stronger. Here he was a king.

His thought fell on the curious group that had entered Imladris that morning. His adopted brother, Elrohir, had returned from an errand in the North. Apparently they had been waylaid by orcs just outside the borders. Estel's heart constricted tightly at the memory of the two still bodies lying over the saddle horns – bodies belonging to beloved elves who would never walk these paths again.

Even stranger was the woman they carried. She was unconscious and injured so he had only had a brief glimpse of flaming hair before she was whisked away for healing by Lord Elrond. He didn't know who she was, but . . .

All thoughts of the strange woman fled his mind as he saw the angel walking towards him. She was even more beautiful that he remembered – her midnight hair falling in soft waves down her back, her starry eyes full of wisdom and knowledge, her graceful, statuesque form clad in dazzling white and silver. He felt as though he should kneel at her feet and worship her, for surely the Valar themselves didn't appear more glorious.

"Arwen," he breathed almost reverently, as he took a step nearer. She raised one slim, white hand to stop him. He paused.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," she said slowly in her deep, melodious voice "I know what it is you would have of me." Her eyes grew sadder and she looked older and wiser, more like her father. "I cannot give you what you would ask," she whispered.

He though his heart would break. He thought he would hear it tearing in twain. He thought that a pain would come, so deep it would be past healing. He thought it would be so. He waited. A sorrow over swept him. A sorrow that the marvelous creature in front of him would not be his queen. But the pain that entered his heart was not that of its breaking. It was emptiness. The spot in his heart that he had filled with her was now empty.

"Estel," she said and he raised his eyes to hers "you will be a great king, a king surpassing the glory of the kings of old, your forefathers. You shall be great in wisdom and glory and strength. The road to this end is dark, filled with hardship and peril. But it _will_ come to pass. You need a queen Estel, but even more you need a lover – one who will not hesitate to give herself to you mind, body, and soul. My mind is with the Sea, my soul is in the West, my body shall sail to Valinor. I love you, my brother, but not in the way you would wish and not enough to give up what my soul craves."

As she spoke, the sorrow left him. He saw it now. Even were she to decide to stay, she would fade from the sorrow of giving up the Undying Lands, that which was the longed-for fate of her kind. He understood. He accepted it. But even as he did so, the loneliness grew inside of him, till it seemed like a living thing sucking the hope and life from his soul.

"Arwen," he spoke, his clear voice sounding almost elven, though a little rougher "my sister, I should be asking you for your forgiveness. I let my admiration for your strength and beauty blind me to the heavy price you would be forced to pay for me. It was not my place to ask such of you. My road is dark right now and the end is hidden from me." He straightened his shoulders and stood taller. "I will ask no woman to wait for me, when I do not know if I shall prevail over the darkness that is sure to assail me. No woman should be tied to that despair or share the burden that is mine alone to bear. That must wait for better times." He grew more decided as he spoke and his determination to not fall in love until he had come into his own quelled the squirming and snarling of the lonely parasite inside of him . . . at least minimally.

Arwen smiled slightly at his determination. She knew how hard it was to control the workings of the heart, no matter the amount of predetermination to avoid it.

"Estel, love is a gift, no matter the timing," she shook her head at his stony countenance and obvious disagreement with her statement. She walked forward and placed a pale hand on either side of his face. Looking him in the eye, she whispered "Do not ignore it when it comes, despite _when_ it might. Do not shut your heart away until it seems right to _you_. If you do, the thing you long for might just slip out of your fingers. Namarie."

She left then, in a rustle of leaves. He stood, slightly amazed at her last words. How could he fall in love _now_? He knew not what the future would bring, but the Council would be held after Frodo awoke and then he would leave. One way or the other he would be leaving this sanctuary and again become Strider, the Ranger.

It was no time to fall in love.

PLEASE REVIEW!!! Your review keep me inspired! Even just a line saying that you liked it (or hated it) would be awesome! Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello all! I'm sorry that it's been awhile, but life intervened as usual. This is a longer chapter to make up for it! I hope that you enjoy it and please review! Reviews make the world go 'round! Thanks to the folks who reviewed my last chapter - I greatly appreciate it! Here you go!

Odilyn

Disclaimer - The Lord of the Rings is Tolkien's genius. I also used his dialogue for the Council of Elrond. It was too good to pass up!

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Chapter Five

The sun was filtering through the emerald leaves of the large tree outside her window, giving her bedroom a very leafy feeling. She sighed in contentment and began to experimentally stretch out her various muscles. Anariel, though skilled in healing, had shown how much of her elven skill she had lost by not realizing that the orcish blade that had cut her arm had been poisoned. It was a very slow-working poison, designed more to incapacitate any escaped prisoners than to inflict any lasting damage. She had been abed three days at the stern command of her uncle and today would see the end of the confinement to her room.

Her uncle – she recalled how his face had been the first sight to meet her eyes when she revived from her fever-induced sleep. His eyes, once filled with cold anger and disappointment, were now soft and loving. He held her in his arms and whispered endearing words. He entreated her to forgive, to forgive the harshness of his words and the pain he had caused her. It had been surprisingly easy to do as he asked. Her mortal life, though it would last much longer than others, was still too short to sully with petty resentment and bitterness. And it had just felt so _good_ to be held again, to be loved. It hadn't filled the empty spot in her soul, but it had taken the edge off the pain and had lightened her spirits considerably. She felt a small part of the joy she had possessed many centuries ago return to her.

She stretched and rose, slightly unsteadily, from the soft bed. She was dressed in a nightgown, so she walked over to the wide wardrobe. Opening the doors, she was slightly stunned to see some of her gowns from fifteen years ago still hanging there. Elves, and those few elves who have chosen mortality, change little or very gradually over the years. Anariel knew they would fit her. Choosing a light blue dress trimmed with gold, she quickly changed. For the first time in almost fifteen years, she left her fiery hair to hang in soft curls down her back. She observed herself critically in the mirror.

_This experience is already taking its toll on me_, she thought.

Her hair looked shinier than it did when she had healed Lindor and her eyes were a little brighter, but even in sunlight, which used to enhance her elven beauty, she knew that no one in Imladris would ever again mistake her for an elleth. She sighed but straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

_No one will ever love me for my looks. I will not have myriad admirers, as Arwen does. _

Rather than feel disappointed or bitter, this thought rather lifted Anariel's spirits higher. The one whose heart would belong to her would not be fooled into thinking himself in love, when all he truly felt was admiration. No. The one to whom _her_ heart would be given would love her for her mind and character and that love would make her beautiful, not the other way around.

She exited her room. The wide hallway was empty and quiet. There was no one in sight and even with her retained elven hearing she heard nothing. It was odd. There was a restlessness in the air. A single clear bell rang out. She started down the hall in the direction of the sound.

She came upon a wide porch. A strange assortment of beings was gathered there – men, elves, dwarves, and the strange little creatures called hobbits. Anariel had seen only one before, many years ago when her heart was light and the valley was filled with song. She shook her head free of the memories and refocused her attention on the gathering. A dwarf was speaking currently of, what else, mines. Anariel smiled softly. She had had her dealings with dwarves and, despite the general prejudice against them, had grown fond of the gruff, but true-hearted, creatures.

Her uncle was there, a serious and thoughtful look on his face. Gandalf the Grey, the Istar, was present, as she knew he would be. She greatly respected the wizard, though she knew him personally but little. Three hobbits were next – an aged, familiar one; a weary-looking, serious one; and another seated at the serious one's feet and looking at him with a concerned expression. The weary one seemed burdened, weighed down. Anariel felt a great menace on him, but not _of_ him. She shivered and her gaze moved on. There was Glorfindel, the recipient of the majority of her pranks in the old days; an elf from the Grey Havens; and Legolas of Mirkwood. She smiled more exuberantly when she saw him – he had been one of her dear friends and the only one to rarely contact her in the last fifteen years.

There were two dwarves – one was very aged and looked slightly familiar; the other was younger and sturdier, with a full, brown-red beard. There was a man next. He was tall and strong-looking, even sitting. He had dark hair and grey eyes. He had a proud air and Anariel noted the horn hanging at his belt. This was a man of Gondor.

Her gaze moved to the next man and was startled to see him meet her eyes. Her heart started thumping more rapidly and she felt her cool mask of composure slip firmly into place so that he should not see her blush. He had grey eyes, as the Gondorian did, but his were softer and wiser. He was dressed ruggedly as the Rangers of the North did, but he was more than that. Anariel could see it. He was the most noble-looking man, or elf, that she had ever seen.

She realized that she had been staring at him for a few moments. She inclined her head slightly at the man and turned to go. She did not want to eavesdrop on something that was not her concern.

She found a secluded spot, not too far form the porch where the Council had convened. She could hear the murmur of the voices, but could not make out the speech unless someone spoke loudly. She sighed. She didn't know why, but that man had unnerved her. She didn't know who he was, but something about the way his glance had made her heart twist and writhe within her scared her. It was strange.

0000000

Aragorn's mind wandered for a moment as Gloin began speaking of Moria. He had heard the story before – one of dread and sorrow. His eyes glanced around the circle and then, for some reason, were drawn to the shadows by the doorway. He was slightly surprised to see the woman Elrohir had brought standing there. Her eyes were moving around the circle, appearing to appraise each member of the Council. Aragorn thought she was pretty to a certain extent, but certainly no great beauty. Her hair was the most striking thing about her. It was like red-gold flame. She was a small thing, she would probably merely reach his shoulder were he to stand next to her. Her eyes moved to his. She showed a moment's surprise at being caught, but then regained composure and looked cool and calm. Aragorn was struck momentarily breathless as he met her eyes and the speech of Gloin faded even further into the background. Her eyes – they looked just like the laughing blue eyes that had been haunting his dreams. But they were not laughing now. They were guarded, shielded, the emotions kept at bay. A very slight tinge of pink graced her cheeks and she nodded her head at him once, then turned gracefully and left. He sat stunned. She was not beautiful. Compared with Arwen, she was positively ordinary. And yet her gaze had held him enthralled. Him – Estel, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir, who had seen many of the most beautiful women and elleths in Middle Earth. Yet none of their eyes had been burned into his mind as this small woman's had. It confused him. He decided not to think on it at the moment. He turned his attention back to the Council.

0000000

Time seemed to drag on for Anariel. She sat, still as a statue, and listened to the steady rise and fall of the murmuring voices. She knew that she should just go and get something to eat, but she couldn't. Something wouldn't let her. Some part of her heart that was wiser than the others told her that the Council would be critical, that the fate of Middle Earth would in some significant way be affected by what went on in that group of strange creatures.

All of a sudden, she heard a clatter, as of metal on stone, then a clear, strong voice saying: "Here is the Sword that was Broken!"

Anariel stood and softly crept back to the doorway leading to the porch, careful to stay hidden this time. She saw the Gondorian standing, his eyes wide in wonderment, looking at a mighty blade that was in two pieces lying on the stone table. The other man, the one who made Anariel's breath come shorter, was standing also, his chin drawn up and a chill flame in his eyes.

"And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" The man of Gondor said with a look of slight disdain as he gazed at the weather-stained Ranger.

"He is Aragorn son of Arathorn, and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur Elendil's son. He is the Chief of the Dunedain of the North, and few are now left of that folk," Elrond explained. Anariel felt little surprise. She had suspected that this man, though rugged and worn, was something greater than he appeared. It was there – in the lift of his head, in the bearing of his shoulders, the light in his eyes. Here was the heir of Isildur.

"Then it belongs to you and not to me at all!" The burdened hobbit leapt from his chair and clutched at something around his neck, something which Anariel felt was the source of the menace surrounding this meeting.

"It does not belong to either of us" Aragorn said gently. His voice sent chills up her spine. "But it has been ordained that you should hold it for awhile."

Anariel was puzzled for a moment. What were they talking about?

Then he brought It out. The halfling stepped forward at the command of Gandalf and held it up in his hand – One Ring to rule them all.

The words pounded in Anariel's head and she stumbled back from the doorway. Once around the corner, she leaned against the wall and placed a shaking hand on her cheek. This was it then. The doom of Middle Earth, Isildur's Bane, in the hands of a hobbit. This was what the Council was about. It had been found.

She knew how it would end. There was only one way. There was only one way to try. Success was a dim hope, but try they must. It must be destroyed.

Anariel steadied her breathing and trained her ears on the voices now speaking.

"Is then the doom of Minas Tirith come at last? But why then should we seek a broken sword?" The man of Gondor spoke despairingly, yet Anariel thought she saw a hint of desire flit though his eyes.

"The words were not 'the doom of Minas Tirith'." Anariel closed her eyes at the sound of _his_ voice and let it wash over her. "But doom and great deeds are indeed at hand. Now you have seen the sword that you have sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?"

His voice grew in splendour, to Anariel. She wondered if anyone else heard it? Judging by the Gondorian's next words, she thought not.

"I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek only the meaning of a riddle," he said in a proud tone. "Yet we are hard pressed, and the Sword of Elendil would be a help beyond our hope – if such a thing could indeed return out of the shadows of the past." Anariel could hear the doubt and scathing in his voice as he looked at Aragorn and she felt her burning temper spring to life within her.

Could he not see the greatness of the man before him? To her eyes, it was as though the very glory of the kings of old had taken flesh. Perhaps his eyes were veiled though. Perhaps the worry for his country and its people blinded him to the power of the Ranger before him. She cooled her anger.

The older hobbit stood suddenly. There was a snap to his eyes that suggested he was as angry as Anariel had been, but he was not about to let it go. He spoke:

_All that is gold does not glitter; _

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither;_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken._

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be king._

"Not very good perhaps, but to the point – if you need more beyond the word of Elrond. If that was worth a journey of a hundred and ten days to hear, you had best listen to it." He sat down with a snort of impatience.

Anariel internally applauded the plucky fellow. The words that he had spoken had made much clear to her. She now knew who Aragorn really was. He was Estel, the hope of men. She remembered how he had been raised in Imladris. She had never met him though. The years he had lived in Rivendell, she had spent both with Galadriel in Lothlorien and with Cirdan at the Havens. He had already left when she returned.

She turned away form the Council, from the small porch where the fate of all would be decided. She would do what she could of course, but her role would be small. The halfling would be much more important to this war than she.

She had never been more mistaken.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello, y'all! I am so terribly sorry about the long update and hope that people haven't given up on this story! I know I haven't. Life has just been so hectic - it seems to have conspired against me in order to cut into my writing time! I am going to try to update every week now that life has settled down, but we will see. Thank to everyone who has reviewed this story - your reviews make me want to keep up with this story! Enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review! Odilyn

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Chapter Six

"These are troubled times! Much is at stake and all must make sacrifices! I know how much she means to you, but her gifts could be the single coin that tips the scale in our favor."

She did not mean to eavesdrop. But when she heard the raised voices of her uncle and Mithrandir floating down the hallway and her name was mentioned, how could she help but stop and listen? But now she understood why it was said that those who heard things not meant for them never prospered in the knowledge. She stood, frozen in the hall, her head reeling slightly and shock clear in her startling blue eyes.

Mithrandir wanted _her_ to go with the Fellowship? Rivendell had been abustle for the past few weeks with preparations for the Company's departure. All knew that this was a solemn occasion. Some would never return from this dangerous journey and all their hope, and the hope of all Middle-earth, rested in the hands of one small hobbit. It may have seemed foolishness, but Anariel knew, as did everyone else, that it was the only way. The Fellowship consisted of nine. Anariel was disappointed to learn that her friend, Legolas, was among the group. But she had tried to spend as much time as possible with him before he left and their friendship had strengthened till they felt more like kin than anything else. The man of Gondor, Boromir his name, had become somewhat more familiar to Anariel. She thought that he probably felt more at ease around her than the elves, for she was more approachable than the high and noble beings. They did fight quite often, as they both were high strung, proud people with many differing opinions. But they remained on good terms, despite their love-hate relationship. Aragorn son of Arathorn had been abroad much during the time since the Council. She had yet to meet him directly and she half dreaded it, half yearned for it. Something about the man confused her greatly and Anariel didn't like to be confused. She had always been independent and sure of herself, sometimes to the dismay of her family.

Anariel shook her head and returned to listening to the heated discussion in the room. Mithrandir wanted her to go with the Nine. Not as part of the Fellowship, mind you. No, but as an asset, a tool. Her temper began to rise and she felt betrayed. She had known this was how it would be – get her to come back with promises of acceptance, offer her love and support, and then pawn her abilities off to the worthiest cause. She was nothing more than a tool. Her anger quickly turned to sorrow and loneliness. Had it all been a ploy? Then, her uncle spoke:

"No, Gandalf! I know Anariel's gifts could help, but it is too dangerous! I have just got her back. I am not going to let her go just because she might _possibly_ be needed. That is my final word."

Anariel felt her heart warm at these words. At least her uncle was against this scheme. He did not see her as an asset or merely someone good to have around in case of emergency. She turned and continued down the hall. She didn't know what would come of that discussion, but she did know that she wouldn't go without a fight. She wanted to help the Ring-Bearer, make no mistake, but her going along on such a treacherous journey would more likely be a hindrance than a help.

She made her way to one of the many gardens in Imladris. She was supposed to meet Legolas here. He was going to help her with her archery skills . . . or rather her lack of them. She confessed herself to having horrible aim. One would be safer if she _was_ aiming for them than not. She laughed quietly to herself. All those in Imladris know to stay far from the training grounds when Anariel was practicing with her bow – the danger was simply too great.

She entered the garden and took a deep breath. Though autumn was slipping by rapidly, the air retained its warmth in this protected valley. The colors were at their most vibrant and Anariel's hair blended in for once, instead of drawing attention to itself. As she stood under the fiery maple, the russet leaves shone just as brightly as her hair. She smiled happily. She liked to blend in once in a while. It was a nice break from the pitying glances she received on a regular basis from those in the city. She needed no man's, or elf's, pity. Save it for those who truly needed it.

* * *

He wandered aimlessly along the garden path – his mind wandering as well, reveling in the peace and tranquility that the place of his childhood gave him. His time was coming. He could feel it. Though he still felt inadequate to the role and the tasks that accompanied it, he knew that he needed to embrace his path. Excuses would not help. They would but encumber him with needless doubts and fears. He would fight and he would win. He _must_ win.

He turned around a bend in the path and stopped, struck by the sight that met him.

The strange woman sat under the glowing branches of a large maple. She was humming gently to herself as she wove the fallen leaves into a circlet. Her fingers were long and slim, deftly weaving the scarlet stems. He smiled. It was such a pretty scene, made all the more comforting by the simplicity of the lady. She wore a faded blue dress and he imagined it would complement her eyes. He half hoped, half feared that she would look up at him. She did not. He continued his observance. Her hair really was a remarkable shade, brighter even than the fiery leaves she was twining together. He thought they looked dull in comparison to her tresses. For a moment, his fingers twitched and ached with the desire to run through her long, flowing hair. He reprimanded himself for such thoughts.

She looked up then, and he quickly stepped behind a tree with the silence and agility of an elf. He peered around the trunk and realized that she had looked towards another path leading to that clearing.

What was wrong with him? Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, heir of kings, had stood transfixed by this plain woman. It was not that he thought her below him or that he thought himself too good for her. No, it was that he had never behaved in this frivolous fashion ever before. Never had a woman so entranced him. He tried to clear his mind. He must get away. That was it. He was probably getting restless.

Looking around the tree, he saw his good friend Legolas approaching. He smiled. He had been patrolling the borders with the sons of Elrond and so had spent little time with Legolas. That would soon be remedied as they were to travel in the Fellowship together.

The lady sprang to her feet and ran toward Legolas, giving him a quick hug. Aragorn felt a strange feeling in his stomach when she embraced his friend, one he had never felt in his entire life. Maybe he was hungry? It _was_ almost lunch time.

She stretched up on her toes and placed the wreath of leaves on the son of Thranduil's head. She really was very small. He almost laughed at the look on Legolas' face. It was one of disdain and laughter, humiliation and humor. The lady laughed gaily and the sound was as rain on the meadows or sun on the water. He was stricken suddenly for a moment and his vision was widened – he saw this same woman holding his hand as they walked by a mallorn tree; he saw her crying as he held her; he saw a circlet of gold sitting on her shining head as she rocked a sleeping child in her arms.

He shook his head. These visions assailed him only rarely and none of them had come to pass . . . yet. This was folly! He knew nothing about this woman, not even her name. Well, _that_ he could remedy.

He moved silently away from the tree, back up the path he had come down. Then he turned toward the clearing and walked casually down the path, whistling an old lullaby he had heard in his youth.

As he turned the corner, both Legolas and the woman were looking at him. He felt his heart leap at the sight of her bright blue eyes fixed on his. He turned his attention to Legolas.

"Legolas, old friend, it has been awhile. I see you are making clear your rank as Prince of Mirkwood," he said, clasping his friend's shoulder and gesturing to the circlet of leaves on his head. Out of the corner of his eye he noted again how short she was. She barely reached his shoulder. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness rolled through him, but he stubbornly fought it back.

"Well, you have been busy with patrolling the borders. But in your work you have missed out on many things." Legolas' clear eyes flickered toward the lady and a faint pink tinge graced her cheeks. "May I introduce you to Anariel, niece of Lord Elrond."

Anariel. It was a beautiful name and somehow fit her perfectly. He had begun to lose himself in her eyes, when the second half of the introduction hit him. Niece of Lord Elrond – then this was Elros' daughter? He had heard of her of course, but he had never understood, and no one had ever cared to explain, the reasons for her choice.

"My pleasure, Lady Anariel. I am called Strider the Ranger."

Her eyes lit up and he had the feeling she was laughing at him. His temper rose just slightly.

"No need to hide from me, Aragorn son of Arathorn, also called Estel, the hope of Men." Her voice was pleasant, but sad, like a song that was once alight with hope but had faded in the cold dawn of reality. It tugged on something inside of him. All he could do was look at her. "I knew your father. He was a good man. It's getting harder to remember, but I know he was always kind to me, despite some reasons he may have had to dislike me and my cousins." Her eyes were now full of laughter and mischief and he couldn't help but smile.

"Lady, what ere your deeds, I'm sure my father would have found it as difficult to dislike you as I."

He wanted to bit his tongue as he saw color flood her cheeks and her eyes widen in surprise. Legolas was holding back a smirk. When had he become so audacious? He had never said anything so bold to Arwen. What was Lady Anariel doing to him?

"Excuse me, but I recalled something I must discuss with your uncle. My lady, Legolas," he bowed politely and made his escape, before he could foolishly blurt out any more embarrassing thoughts – like how her eyes were like the sky at twilight or how her hair was like a river of living fire. He sternly reproached himself. The heir to the throne of Gondor did not behave like a fumbling school-child. He must control himself. His emotions could not be left unchecked. He was leaving soon and Lady Anariel would be staying. Soon, she would be out of his head for good. Somehow, though, he felt as though he might miss her presence there.

* * *

She watched him till he disappeared around the bend. Her insides were twisting and turning in ways she didn't know they could. He had spoken to her! He had smiled at her! She didn't think she was even worthy to have such a man look at her the way he did. His eyes were piercing, a cloudy grey like the sky before a storm. They could swallow her up and she would gladly be consumed. He was truly a noble man. She could see it in the way he carried himself – the set of his shoulders, the lift of his chin, the light in his eyes. He would be a great king of Men. She saw it. He would rise far beyond any height she could even dream of attaining, and this man and this man alone made her feel things she had never felt before – things glorious and frightening, comforting and bewildering all at once. She shook herself and looked at Legolas. He smirked at her.

"What is it?" she asked, irritated. Her eyes glowed a little more brightly.

"Aragorn is very . . . kingly, is he not?" he said slyly. Anariel hit him in the arm.

"What was that for?" he complained, even though his eyes danced with mirth.

"You know very well what it was for. He is kingly and it is fitting, for he shall _be_ a king." She fixed Legolas with a fiery stare. "He shall be the greatest king since Elendil. And I am Anariel. Just Anariel, with no pretensions, no hopes, no dreams, nothing to lose. And you would do well to remember it."

She turned on her heel and started toward the training grounds, her hair even more brilliant in the sunlight and in her anger. Legolas sighed. That woman was aggravating sometimes. She didn't like to be belittled and she had a certain amount of pride, and yet she almost didn't have any self-respect. Her family's reaction to her choice had made her doubt herself and her worth beyond her gifts. Legolas turned to follow the small, but angry woman. He hoped Aragorn knew what he was getting into, but somehow he doubted it.

Review, review, review!!! Please! Even just a comment saying like it, hate it, or love it (hopefully you don't hate it)! It would make my day!


	7. Chapter 7

Hello, everyone! Once again, I have taken a frightfully long time in getting the next chapter out. I am so sorry and I have no excuse to make other than the usual 'my life is a dizzying hole of madness'. I hope that everyone is still enjoying this story and I will try for quicker updates over the summer.

I had a difficult time with this chapter and I guess you could say it is more of a 'filler' chapter than anything. I hope you enjoy it anyway and don't forget to REVIEW!!! Thanks!

Odilyn

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Chapter 7

Why would anyone in their right mind want _her_ to go with the Fellowship?

"You're crazy," Anariel said bluntly, turning toward the Istar. He didn't even blink, but his eyes twinkled mysteriously. She felt rather young and foolish under his gaze, an odd feeling.

"You are afraid?" His gruff voice asked incredulously. She went rigid and her eyes flashed furiously.

"I am not afraid to die. I am not afraid to fight. But I am no warrior. I would distract the Fellowship in a fight. The Ring-Bearer himself could be killed. I would not wish to die to no purpose." Her eyes seemed to dare Mithrandir to contradict her words.

"You would not die." Lord Elrond spoke for the first time since the conversation had begun. Anariel turned slowly toward him, her mouth slightly agape. She had thought he was on her side. He had a far-off look in his eyes.

"Uncle?" she said softly, wonderingly. His eyes refocused and they were sharper than ever. They drove into her like nails.

"You would not die, not needlessly at least." His voice was stronger, more certain. "Many things are hidden from me and not all is clear. But I have seen this – were you to accompany the Nine, you would be in no more danger of dying for no purpose than you are now and I sense, though distantly, that it would do good, of what sort I know not." His eyes took on the look of _Lord_ Elrond, wise leader of his people, dutiful guardian of the Last Homely House. Anariel knew her uncle was still there, but what he was going to say was not what she wanted to hear. "Perhaps you should go."

Her back stiffened and her chin lifted. This was preposterous! Perhaps she wouldn't die in battle. Perhaps not. But the reason they wanted her was for her healing powers and what if they didn't understand her limitations? What she could and could not accomplish? She would be a burden – perhaps she could protect herself, but the men would feel responsible for her. They were princes, lords among men and elves. They were noble and would not leave her to fend for herself in a skirmish. Her pride rebelled at the thought of holding them back, of being watched and coddled like a child. She would not cooperate. Her feelings were in turmoil and she shook her head in an effort to clear it. Her eyes met those of Gandalf.

"Make me."

With those words, the door slammed behind her, the two wise lords still stunned by the fiery glow she had emitted in her anger. Gandalf recovered first and began to chuckle softly to himself. Elrond looked as though he didn't know whether to laugh along or be extraordinarily angry at his niece's stubbornness.

"Elrond, your niece is one of a kind, sure enough. She will come with us and we will not have to force her. Just wait and see."

And for once, Lord Elrond doubted the wizard's foresight. Though he loved Anariel dearly, he had never truly understood her. It appeared that Gandalf understood something about Anariel that he didn't. And, truly, he hoped this would prove to be another time the wizard was right.

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Hot tears streamed down Anariel's cheeks as she quickly made her way to her room. She tried to keep all her feelings at bay until she reached it, but it was vanity. Shame, anger, pride, sorrow, and . . . fear – all mingled together to create the pangs in her chest and the tears in her eyes.

Finally the door of her room appeared and she was through it in a heartbeat. She buried her head in her pillow and let the sobs overtake her. She _was_ afraid. She was _afraid_. Mithrandir was right and she hated that he was. It was not pride, it was not concern for the success of the quest. It was fear, plain and simple. She was afraid to die and it shamed her. Every individual being in the Fellowship was more important than her and they were all risking their lives for the sake of Middle-earth. Could not she also?

Her sobs lessened and her soul calmed. She had to think calmly and rationally, like her uncle, and not let her feelings keep her from doing what was required of her. For, if she denied the Fellowship her aid, would she not also be denying the very reason for her choice? She had to be more like her uncle, level-headed, and push aside the hot-blooded temper that she had inherited from her father. Deep down, she knew that she had a lot to offer the Fellowship; that she could help.

She sat up and moved to her dressing table. She splashed her face with cold water and tugged her fingers through her tangled hair. She concentrated and shoved her fear deep down inside of her, along with her shame, her sorrow, her self-pity, and about half of her pride. She needed the other half to make it through a journey of this magnitude with naught but males for company.

She looked at herself in the mirror and part of her self-pity rose to the surface, but she pushed it back quickly. _No more_, she thought. No more would she feel sorry for herself, but she would strive to be more like the sturdy hobbits – cheerful in her self-sacrifice and mindless of self-interest. She would be like her uncle – only concerned for the well-being of Middle-earth and heedless of her own suffering. She could do it and she would. But now, it seemed apologies were in order.

Straightening her rumpled gown and smoothing down her hair, she exited her room. She was calmer and in control and she resolved to remain so. Her mind and emotions had changed drastically in the last half hour and she was slightly stunned that she had managed it. But she knew better than anyone that emotions could be controlled and reigned in, though at times it was harder than others.

She chuckled to herself. A sudden image of the expressions on the Fellowship's faces if she had one of her emotional outbursts in front of them came to her mind. She wondered how they would react to the presence of a female in their midst. It would definitely be interesting to find out.

The doors of her uncle's study appeared before her more quickly than she would have wished. She stood for a moment, staring at them apprehensively. Her pride (or at least the half she had kept) rebelled somewhat at the thought of confessing her faults, but there was no alternative. And her father had always told her that there was no shame in admitting one's shortcomings, but the shame lie rather in denying them. She knocked.

"Come in." The unreadable voice of Lord Elrond bade her enter. She held her breath and entered, eyes lowered and hands clasped before her in a sign of remorse.

Gandalf and Elrond looked with amusement on the sight of Anariel's attempts at humility. She was doing fairly well, but the rigidity of her back and slight glow to her hair told them that the fiery maiden who had slammed the door in their faces was still there. She lifted her chin.

"My lords, I was wrong to let my temper take hold, and I apologize. I did not act respectfully and I pray you to pardon me." This was said very formally, but the light in her eyes was one of sincere remorse and the kindly elf lord and the wise Istar did not hold grudges.

"Anariel, it was wrong of you but I have regained you too recently to stay angry now," her uncle said softly. She looked to Gandalf. He smiled.

"My lady, your impulsiveness is part of what makes me more sure of my idea." He winked at her and her mouth dropped open slightly. Mithrandir just _winked_ at her. And what _was_ he talking about? Her impulsiveness? He chuckled at her.

Anariel sank into a chair nearby and looked down at her hands in thoughtfulness. There only remained one thing to be done.

"Mithrandir, you were right," she spoke softly. His eyebrows rose, but there was gentle look on his face that encouraged her to continue. "I _am_ afraid to die. I am. That was the main reason for my refusal. But I now see that to remain here, in relative safety and comfort when my gifts could be useful elsewhere, would not be living the life I chose for myself twelve years ago. Thus far, I have hidden from the problems that plagued Middle-earth. No more. Though the fear is still present, I will not let it dictate my actions and keep me from helping how I can. I will accompany you."

Throughout this speech, the differences between the faces of the two listeners grew. Pride was evident in both, but the sorrow grew in Lord Elrond's and the confidence grew in Gandalf's.

As Anariel spoke, her own confidence grew. This was right. This was what she had always wanted – a chance to do some lasting good for the world she loved with her whole being. Unlike her kindred, even before she gave up her immortality, she had loved Middle-earth more than was typical in the elves. She had never felt the Sea-longing or the desire to see Valinor that many felt. It pained her to the very core of her being to see the evil that was growing in her world – her sweet, beautiful Middle-earth. Now, she could help save it, albeit in a very small capacity. Even as she was speaking, and thinking of what she was saying, a new fire sprang to life within her. It was the fire of sacrifice, of love, of heroism. It was the desire to see Middle-earth purged of the foul darkness that flowed out of Mordor, no matter the personal cost. It almost consumed her.

As these feelings grew, her light shone brighter, so that the tears started in Lord Elrond's eyes. It seemed to him as if his old niece, his child of the Sun, was returned to him once more. But it faded as quickly as it started, though Anariel's feelings remained. Lord Elrond sighed. The past was long gone. Now, the future was more important. That was what they were fighting for – a free future for all the races of Middle-earth.

"Anariel, my dear niece, I respect you for your decision more than you can know." A tear sprang to his eye and he bowed his dark head over his hands. She went to him and embraced him. Mithrandir turned to a bookshelf, sensing a private moment between the two.

"Uncle, since my father's death, you have been as a father to me. I love you more than anybody. But, this must be. You've never quite understood my reasons, my feelings. But understand this – no matter the course of events to come, my love for you remains, as surely as the stars in which you heart delights shine eternally down on us every night, whether we see them or no." He embraced her tenderly, running a hand over her bright head and praying silently to the Valar that he would see her once more as she was of old – smiling, carefree, happy. He released her.

"There is much to be done then. If you are to accompany the Nine in a week's time," he said solemnly, pulling on a stern mask, but letting his love for Anariel shine in his eyes. She understood. Her calm, cool mask that she had inherited from her father, along with her fiery temper, was one of her most valuable tools. Her temper and turbulent, sometimes violent, emotions were difficult to check and it helped to cover them over, to shield them from other eyes. She understood well.

"Lady Anariel," Gandalf began. Anariel stopped him quickly.

"Mithrandir, if we are indeed to be traveling together for some span of time in the near future, I would much prefer to be addressed less formally. 'Anariel' should do quite well." She smiled brightly, placing another mask she had mastered the art of wearing on her face – joy. The sharp look on Mithrandir's face told her he was not fooled, however. But he let it be.

"As you wish. I will need to alert the Fellowship to the change of plans. Perhaps it would be best if I did so alone, Anariel," he added as she made to accompany him. "Give them some time to get used to the idea."

"Indeed," was all Anariel's response, with a small smirk. Come on, if she had to do this, she might as well get as much enjoyment out of it as she could. She sighed once more. Well, she'd best pull out her sword and start practicing. She had a feeling she would be glad of it in the near future.

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There you are! What did you think? Am I going the right direction? Please, please, PLEASE review! I love knowing what you think of my stories, even if you have something that you don't really like about it! So let me know. Thanks for reading! Now, hit the button, and my world will be complete . . .


	8. Chapter 8

I can't even believe how long it's been! A couple years? Crazy. I know most of you gave up on this story. I half did myself. But I really would like to finish it. I don't know how fast updates will come, as I am in college right now and life is busy, but I will try to get at least one a month out. If you are still reading this story, bless you. And I hope you enjoy this chapter. Took me a while to get my head back into the story!

Disclaimer: Tolkien's genius. Anariel is mine.

Chapter Eight

The night crept in on stealthy feet, whispering through the pines on the ridge above Imladris, descending on the quiet valley. As the night deepened, light sprang to life in Lord Elrond's halls and music spilled through the golden courts.

Anariel sat on her window seat, staring out into the deepening darkness, away from her room and the thought of preparing for the feast that evening. It would be the first time she would meet and be introduced to the members of the Fellowship – at least in her new role as an addition to their party. After she made her decision, she felt a profound sense of peace and rightness. This was what she was supposed to do. That didn't keep her from worrying or keep the fears from preying on her, but it did help her to fend them off and to stay strong. She sighed – if only her sword skills weren't so lacking. She had made a regular fool of herself at practice that afternoon and the smirk on Glorfindel's face had much wounded her pride. But, at least she could out-shoot him any day. She smiled softly and rolled her neck, wincing when the sore muscles protested. She was black and blue all over. Glorfindel did not hold back, even when sparring with a mortal woman who had not lifted a sword in years and whose head barely reaching his armpits. She could have healed herself, at the cost of maybe a small headache. But she was training herself in more than just swordplay. When they left Rivendell, she could not afford to sped her energy on paltry things such as sore muscles. In her solitude, she would heal herself of a paper cut or a pulled muscle, but her abilities were no longer her own.

"That's what you wanted, Anariel!" A voice inside whispered. "Remember! Remember…"

Guilt gnawed at her insides, but she pushed it away. She didn't want to remember right now. Now, she wanted to see the Fellowship's faces when she was introduced. She turned away from the night outside her window and moved to ready herself for the feast.

The hall was bright, alive. Elf lords and ladies mingled in groups like exotic, glittering birds. Vibrant colors, silver voices, tinkling laughter and gentle music – Anariel felt like a stranger in the midst of her old life. She had never felt more mortal than in the instant she stepped into that swirling kaleidoscope of beauty and liveliness. She had felt quite pleased with herself when she left her room. She wore a long, form-fitting gown of forest green that flared out at her hips to fall to the floor in soft folds. The color suited her pale skin, though it _did _accentuate the freckles that had appeared on the bridge of her nose since sparring in the sun that afternoon. She'd let her hair loose of its binding, allowing it to flow in free waves down her back. Now, she wasn't confident at all. Scanning the hall, she knew that the only reason anyone would look twice at her would be because of her hair – silver, gold, midnight, deep brown, but absolutely no red. She sighed, but straightway felt disgusted. She had chosen this life and it did no good to be envious. Besides, tonight she would not be the only mortal present. Perhaps Boromir would condescend to keep her company, though she did not relish his company as highly as he seemed to think she did. She had tried not to think of the Lord Aragorn. She felt decidedly disoriented when she did.

She lifted her head and set her shoulders. And so she entered the bright hall, letting the light and music wash over her, flooding her mind with memories of other times, happy times, times when no darkness lay upon her soul, when all was light and song. It was glorious, greeting those she knew with soft smiles and sweet words. But as with all attempts at going back in time and trying to capture the past, it could not last. She saw their pity masked behind their warm greetings. They thought to feel sorry for her and this was hurtful. So, she made her way through the hall with bowed head and soon found herself a somewhat secluded corner where she might remain unnoticed. She was prepared to give in and just feel sorry for herself. The luxury of self-pity was beckoning, but she was mercifully saved from this temptation.

"Is it true, Anariel?" Her eyes shot up from her hands in her lap to meet the pale blue ones of Legolas. He looked at her with worry and disbelief etched on his face. Anariel smiled at him.

"How wonderful to see you! Why, I nearly did no know you without your crown, my lord prince! You really should make a point of donning it if you wish folk to notice you." Legolas' face grew less and less sober as his smile crept across it. He sighed.

"Anariel," he said accusingly "stop joking around and tell me if it's true."

"If you would explain to me what exactly you are questioning the veracity of, I may perhaps choose to gift you with an answer." Legolas pressed his lips together into a thin line and his eyes glinted. Anariel merely flipped her hair over her shoulder and laughed gaily up at him.

"Sit down, Lad, and I'll answer what you will." He glared at her use of an old, despised nickname and sat in the empty chair at her side. He wondered at her location, hidden away in the shadows. She looked so magnificent in the light. Some elves may not see it, their eyes blind to all but immortal beauty. Legolas was not so narrow-minded. There was a blazing, astounding beauty that mortals possessed, as though they were a fiery flame leaping up from the embers in a shower of sparks only to be extinguished in a moment. Anariel was too proud for her own good sometimes. He'd talk her out of it.

"Anariel, is it true," here he lowered his voice "that you are to accompany Frodo and the Fellowship?"

Anariel's blue eyes lowered once more to her hands, twisting and releasing the fabric of her dark green skirts. Legolas' hand darted out and stilled hers, causing her eyes to return to his serious face. She swallowed.

"It is," she whispered. Legolas stared at her for a moment and then let out a deep breath.

"Though I knew that Gandalf would not deceive us in this, I could not but hope he was mistaken." Her chin lifted and her eyes flashed, but he cut her off as her mouth opened. "It's not that I doubt your abilities, but it would be dangerous, Anariel. I only worry about your safety. You can't pretend that your life would not be in danger."

Anariel leapt to her feet. Did he think she had presumed to volunteer for this?

"Legolas, you know nothing of this! Do you think it was my choice to go on this potentially deadly mission? I am not so blinded as to think my abilities greater than they are. I was approached by both my uncle and Gandalf. It was only after much work on their part that I was finally persuaded to this course of action. I thought you knew me better than that, my friend!" All this was uttered in a heated whisper, unwilling to draw too much attention to herself. Legolas listened with wide eyes and when she finished, bowed his head.

"I do apologize, Anariel. I should have recognized that you be the last person to over-estimate your talents. Forgive me. I would not wish for your ill will."

Even as quickly as her anger sprang to life, it died. She knew that many would think the same – that she desired to prove herself, to gain glory, to achieve impossibilities. Many would believe that she sought this out. For, who would think that Gandalf, the great Istar, and Lord Elrond Half-elven would desire her help for such a task? She sat back down, her shoulders drooping slightly.

"It is forgiven, Legolas. I shall find, no doubt, that many others share your opinion. But, I did not ask for this. I will no longer complain of this path, but I did not plan to start down it. It was laid before my feet. I can now but travel it to my best ability."

Legolas grasped her hand once more in a friendly gesture, and she smiled at him, a sight which gladdened his heart. But her hands were cold.

"What are you doing tucked away in this dark, cold corner? You will freeze to death! Come! Let us to the fire before the bell for dinner sounds." Legolas pulled her gently but firmly to her feet, despite her protestations. He steered her masterfully through the crowd to the great fireplace in the hall, its blazing flames crackling and hissing, pouring forth warmth into the room.

Anariel, short as she was, couldn't see past the heads of those they passed on their route to the flames. Therefore she was not aware, as Legolas weas, of who exactly was gathered around the grand stone fireplace. She soon found out.

"Ah! Here you are at last," Gandalf's rough voice said merrily as he caught sight of Legolas half-dragging Anarial into the light of the fire. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming." He chuckled at the glare Anariel sent his way. The Istar was teasing her and she knew it. Then, her breath caught. He was there, still and silent. The tall Ranger stood in the light of the dancing flames, leaning against a pillar. His grey eyes were trained on her and she felt exposed and vulnerable in his gaze, as though he could read her every thought as words on the page. She shifted nervously, feeling a blush creep across her cheeks, and looked at the other assembled. And then she smiled. It was the Fellowship.

They were all there and Anariel felt her cheeks flush further, for they were all looking at her with mixed expressions. She had yet to meet more than half of their number and she sent a pleading look at Gandalf, anxious for the silence to be broken with introductions. Gandalf chuckled once more.

"Well, it seems as if a round of introductions is in order – Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, or Merry and Pippin as they are known. This is the Lady Anariel, though I heartily suspect she will scarce allow you to call her such." Gandalf's eyes twinkled as two young, brown-haired hobbits stepped forward. They clearly admired Anariel and bowed deeply. Anariel curtseyed slightly, sending a glare at the wizard.

"'Anariel' will do just fine, young sirs. It is my pleasure to meet you."

"Are you an elf?" Another hobbit, slightly rounder and with lighter hair, asked suddenly. He turned bright red as soon as he asked this and turned away as Anariel looked at him. She hesitated slightly and Gandalf winked at her.

"I am, Master Hobbit. And I am not. As the Daughter of Elros I was given a choice and now a mortal I am, and a mortal I shall remain until my dying day, which will, please Iluvatar, be many ages from now."

The hobbit hung his head slightly and muttered his thanks. Another darker-haired hobbit smiled at Anariel.

"Don't mind Sam, miss. He's just curious about anything to do with elves. I am Frodo Baggins. And this is my gardener and friend Samwise Gamgee. I would rise, but I am still recovering from a recent injury." He bowed his head as he said this and Anariel felt immediately drawn to the young hobbit. He bore a burden through no choice of his own, but he bore it with grace and nobility.

"It is nice to meet you, Frodo. And if Master Samwise has any other inquiries regarding the habits of elves, let him consider me an aid in this pursuit."

Sam's ears turned red and Frodo laughed gaily, something Anariel felt sure he should do more of.

With a throat-clearing the dwarf stepped forward.

"My Lady, it's a pleasure to make the acquaintance of so lovely a lady." He bowed deeply, if a bit stiffly, as he said this and then returned to his place by the fire. Anariel was no ruffled by his brief greeting. Dwarves were not known for their eloquence.

She nodded at Boromir, as they had met already, and was steeling herself to do the same to Aragorn, when he stepped forward. His grey eyes pierced her soul and he took her hand. Was it possible to know so quickly? She wasn't sure. But all she knew was that, as his strong calloused hand gently took hers and his lips touched the back of her hand, she truly lived for the first time. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest. It soared like the Great Eagles above the Misty Mountains. And she felt as she looked in his eyes that this was where she was meant to be. This was where she belonged.

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He decided that it deserved a name – the great battle that he had fought with himself that night. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward on the balcony, lifting his eyes to the star-strewn sky.

She was … enigmatic. He didn't know her and yet… every time he looked at her, all he wanted to do was hold her. He wanted to know every secret held by those amazing blue eyes. He wanted to run his fingers through that magnificent red hair. And he… he wanted to kiss her, to love her, to _know_ her.

But this was madness! Complete madness! He couldn't give his heart this quickly. Not now. Not ever. But especially not now. He sighed. It wasn't like him to be so … physically attracted to a woman. But it was more than that. If he was honest with himself, it was her soul that called to his. It felt more like a piece of him had been missing and now he'd found it.

And then he had heard. She was coming with them. And the emotions wreaked havoc on his insides. Fear, astonishment, anger, fear, wonder, annoyance, _fear_ – she would not survive. How could she? But … he stood up and stared at the bright cold moon. He would die before he saw her come to harm. He could not love her. Not now and perhaps not ever in this world. But he _could_ protect her. And this he would do. His first pledge was to Frodo. But his second was to her. Though she would never know it.

_Goodbye, my almost lover._

_Goodbye, my hopeless dream._

_I'm trying not to think about you,_

_why can't you just let me be?*_

Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts after all this time. : )

* "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy


	9. Chapter 9

HERE IT IS! At least it wasn't so long between chapters this time! And we finally leave Rivendell... Enjoy and happy New Year!

Disclaimer: It's all Tolkien's genius. I used some of his dialogue so if you recognize it, it's his. Anariel is mine.

_Chapter Nine_

The time had finally arrived. It was deepening dusk and tatters of grey cloud hung over the valley of Imladris. Anariel stared out her window once more. She was oddly excited. She had thought and brooded enough. She'd had her time of sulking, of self-pity, of sorrow and anger. But now, the time of action was upon her. Now she would not turn aside from her path. And so, she would smile. The road would be dark, the journey perilous, but she would be flame. If she could, and as long as life burned in her, she would be light.

She tightened her belt around her waist and glanced once more around her room. She wore a dark, midnight-blue linen shirt with long sleeves. Over that, a leather tunic with no sleeves, worked over with scrolling patterns of leaves and vines. Dark leggings, her worn boots, a pair of vambraces, and a dark cloak completed her attire. Her sword was at her hip, a dagger in her boot, and her quiver on her back. The front pieces of her long hair were braided back and the rest left loose and curling down her back. She picked up her bow and pack, eyes lingering on the pillows on her bed. She knew – it would not be the dresses and trinkets that she would miss most. It would be that bed.

She set off down the hallway with a spring to her step. She was ready for adventure, for action.

She found the Fellowship by the fire, saying their goodbyes. Gandalf was no where to be seen. Frodo was huddled in a corner with Sam and Bilbo. She saw Legolas and went to him, a bright smile on her face, though she was acutely aware of Elessar's presence.

"We were to gather in the courtyard when you arrived, Anariel. Gandalf will be along shortly," Legolas said.

"Oh! I hope I was not delaying you," she said.

"No more than we wished to be," Elessar spoke up, his grey eyes fixed on her. "They are loath to begin this journey. For myself – I have long waited for this day. Though now it is come … I too find that Imladris has no small claim on my affections." He smiled then and Anariel's heart gave a flip. She nodded.

"Aye. I understand that myself. It is a dangerous business, leaving home. There's no telling when you shall see it again."

Boromir finished wiping down his sword in the corner and came over. "Shall we gather in the courtyard? The hour grows late and though I know that we wish to use the cover of darkness, it would yet be unwise to linger much longer."

With those words the company said their farewells and proceeded to the courtyard. Bill was there, loaded and ready, his coat shiny and looking entirely too pleased with himself. They were not there long, each standing silent, busy with their own thoughts, before Gandalf appeared, Lord Elrond at his side. Anariel sought out his eyes and her heart was lightened to see there the same love and joy that had greeted her on her return to Rivendell. There was fear and worry also, but it was deeply hidden and he smiled at her before turning to the Company at large.

"This is my last word," he said slowly. "The Ring-bearer sets out on a Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid. The rest go with him as free companions. No oath or bond is laid upon you to go further than you will. For the strength of your hearts is yet untested and the road is dark and unkown before your feet."

"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens," Gimli said stoutly, his eyes flickering to Legolas.

"That may be true, Master Dwarf, and yet I would not make such judgments hastily and before all details of the situation were laid before me. But enough! The hour grows apace and long farewells make the heart heavy."

Anariel hugged her uncle tightly and quickly, and then fell in line just behind Boromir. She would not pretend that her heart did not grieve at this parting, that she did not feel keenly the loss of something that she had so recently found. Her heart had come home, only to be torn from it once more. But no. Not torn. She was leaving willingly this time. Willingly and joyfully to fulfill her duty, her choice, her future. She straightened her shoulders. She would not shed tears. For this was not a final farewell. Not if she had anything to say about it. And she had full faith in Frodo. No. This was not the end.

The elves of Imladris stood in the shadows, their eyes speaking the farewells their lips could not. Anariel remembered journeys from years ago that had been heralded by songs and laughter. But not this one. For this was no "there and back again" journey. The fate of Middle Earth hung in the balance. And so the Company silently melted into the dusk and left the hidden valley.

Anariel stepped lightly, her eyes fixed on Boromir's shield, a smile flitting across her face. She had not traveled in so long that she had nearly forgotten the thrill it gave her. The mist gathered on her hair and began to trickle down her neck. She pulled her hood up and tightened her belt. She glanced at Sam who walked beside her, a gloom already settling about him.

"Chin up, Sam," she said softly. He looked at her, his brown eyes wide in surprise. "I leave my home as well. But what we do, we do to save our homes. Be of good courage. This journey may be merry yet."

Sam's mood visibly lightened and his step quickened. Anariel smiled again and as she turned her face forward, she thought she caught a glimpse of silver eyes gazing her way.

* * *

She was something else – something other, and utterly unknown to him. When she'd appeared among them, clad to travel and to fight, his stomach had soared as the Great Eagles of the mountains. She was beautiful and yet the fact that she looked strong and capable of defending herself made him long to protect her even more. The deep blue of her tunic made her eyes even deeper and he was afraid to look too closely, lest he fall and be incapable of recovery.

Yet she was so small. He clenched his fist over Anduril's pommel and focused on the bobbing of Gandalf's hat in front of his face. She was so small – half the size of even a diminutive orc. Could she really survive the dangers that lie ahead? Once again, he promised himself that while he drew breath, no harm would befall her.

He looked back and his gaze was immediately caught by the fiery glow of her hair, glistening with dew from the mist. He almost sighed when she drew her hood over her head, but quickly shook himself. And then, she smiled. He heard her soft voice and while he couldn't quite make out what she said, he could see that it cheered Sam's mood considerably. She turned and he quickly focused his gaze back to Gandalf's hat.

Her smile. It lightened and warmed his heart to see it, as he was sure it did the others as well. But the soaring of his stomach wouldn't go away and something told him that he ought to get used to it …

* * *

They were heading South, the mountains looming large and dark in the clear night sky to their left. A chill wind swept down from the peaks and after only a few hours, Anariel's feet were aching and her face was numb. But she knew that the plan was to continue through the night and take shelter during the day. She stumbled slightly, but quickly regained her footing.

"Watch yer feet there, lassie. Wouldn't want to take a tumble here in the dark." There was a good-humored chuckle lurking beneath the dwarf's words and Anariel knew that he found her lack of grace amusing. She flashed him a bright smile.

"Aye, that would be a shame, Master Dwarf, for then you'd be stuck with Lad there as the only Elvish company. And," Anariel lowered her voice to a loud whisper, "stuck up Elvish company at that."

Legolas shot her a glare, but Gimli let out a deep guffaw.

"I like you, lassie. Let's hope you don't tumble into the dark for a while yet. I'll keep a sharp eye out for you."

Anariel smiled to herself and once more turned her eyes to the path. The hours crept along, sliding by like snails on their slick bellies. Finally, the East began to lighten. Once it was light enough to make out the barren waste around them, they found a small hollow dell to make camp in. Legolas and Gimli took the first watch and Anariel thought that Gandalf must have a death-wish – putting those two together. But she was too tired to dwell on it. She spread out her bed-roll and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

A few hours later, she judged by the sun's position, she was shaken awake by Gandalf to take her turn on the watch. She stretched and yawned, shooting a suspicious glance at Gandalf when she noticed a decidedly mischievous twinkle in his eye. She had a feeling that she knew who her partner would be for this watch.

She was not surprised when she saw him sitting on a rock at the mouth to their little valley. His grey eyes hit her and she froze. They swept over her quickly and she felt her pale skin betray her with a blazing blush. Then, he smiled at her. Oh, she wished he wouldn't! It was definitely NOT healthy for the state of her insides, she decided, nor for her peace of mind.

"So, my lady, you are to take this watch with me?" His gentle words unfroze her and she swiftly clambered up the rock to sit beside him. She turned her gaze outward, though she could still feel his eyes on her.

"Yes. I suppose I am." She inwardly cursed her breathy voice and hoped she could blame it on the brief climb.

They sat for a while in silence. Anariel's heart was gradually slowing down and she suddenly felt calm in his presence. Content. Serene.

"We have not had much chance to get acquainted, my lady." His deep voice finally broke the silence and she looked at him. His grey eyes twinkled at her and she smiled.

"No, we have not. But it would please me if would just call me 'Anariel.' I am no great lady."

"If it pleases you. Though I could contest your latter claim …"

She blushed once more and he chuckled. The sound warmed her to her toes.

"But what shall I call you, my lord? For you are of many names and many titles." She looked at him deeply, curious as to his answer. It would be revealing.

"Seeing as how you of all present, save perhaps Mithrandir, are most familiar with my many names, you should perhaps decide for yourself," he said with a slight arch of his brow. Anariel shot him a grimace and he laughed once more.

"In my mind, you are Elessar, the hope of men. But as you have not yet won that title, it is yet a future name to be used by men. I shall call you Aragorn, as most of the others do."

Her words seemed to sober him and he nodded.

"You are wise, Anariel. And you see much. Your choice is sound. I pray that the day may come in which you may openly use the name Elessar and it will not be unknown to the world of men. It is a day that I fear may never come."

Anariel didn't know where her boldness came from, but without a thought she gently placed her hand over his which lay on his knee. His eyes shot to hers in surprise and she looked straight into them.

"That day will come, my lord Aragorn, and though it now lay on the other side of the night, it will shine out all the brighter for the darkness that once sought to quench it. You are a great lord of men and the Elessar of your people. That day will come. Do not lose heart."

He had placed his other hand over hers while she spoke and she felt the rough palm of a warrior. Strength, power, lay in those hands – but she could also feel healing, warmth, pouring from them. He smiled once more and bent his dark head to lay a kiss on the top of her hand.

"Anariel, Elros' daughter, despite your words you are a great lady. I thank you. You have renewed my spirit."

Anariel was frantically renewing her efforts to calm her once-again racing heart when a throat-clearing from behind them caused her to hastily rip her hands from his, immediately missing the strength and warmth they offered. Legolas stood there, an infuriating smirk dancing across his face.

"I am here to tell Anariel that there is a plate of food for her back at camp, if she desires it."

Anariel's stomach twisted at the mention of food.

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you. Do you mind?" she turned back to Aragorn, suddenly feeling very shy.

"Nay, Anariel. Go and eat."

She slid from the rock and headed back to camp. But she felt his eyes on her, like a warm blanket or a strong armor. And though, with him, she felt safer than she had ever felt in her life, she also felt that her heart had never been in greater danger of falling.

_I've been spending all my_

_Time just thinking about you._

_I don't know what to do_

_I think I'm falling for you.*_

_*Falling for You, _Colbie Caillat

Please Review! I enjoy feedback and hearing your thoughts. I don't know if I'm entirely happy with this chapter, so I may be taking it down for some revisions in the future, but for now I wanted to get something up before break ended. Thanks again for reading!


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